


The Timing's Never Right

by 1848pianist



Category: Roman Holiday (1953), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/F, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1848pianist/pseuds/1848pianist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte is a telepath, a princess, and tired of her confined life as royalty. Erika is an American journalist in Rome who is not in the habit of inviting strange girls back to her apartment. When Charlotte escapes the palace and ends up on the streets of Rome under Erika's care, Erika realizes she might have the story of a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Dalanie! I finally finished it!
> 
> So yes, this is a Roman Holiday AU of X-Men: First Class. This is also probably my most derivative work ever, but if you've never seen Roman Holiday, I encourage you to watch it sometime - I left out all the best jokes. Visual humor is hard to translate to writing! (If you have seen Roman Holiday, I bet you've never seen it with bickering lesbian mutants before.)
> 
> Also, although this takes place in Rome in 1953, I've decided that sexism and homophobia don't exist for the purposes of this fic. Who needs it, honestly.

Despite what her aides think, Charlotte doesn’t mind the balls and dinners. She likes meeting new people, even if most of the time, their thoughts are as dry and repetitive as a desert landscape. Public events are always a fascinating test of her powers; crafting just the right flattery to deliver with enough sincerity to seem genuine. She can tell which dignitaries will be charmed by a smile at just the right moment, and which prefer stoic solemnity. She knows every country’s customs and languages and traditions as if they were her own, because through others’ thoughts she experiences them as such.

No, the unbearable part isn’t the endless shaking of hands and exchanging of greetings, but the fact that she knows there must be so much more than this. Snatches of thoughts caught from crowds – crowds of ordinary people, not royalty and dignitaries and nobles – tell her there is much more to the world than parties and balls, and she wants to see it.

Wanderlust is only the beginning of it, though. She never has a moment to herself, not even when she isn’t in public. A princess’s life is one eternal public event, she thinks wryly as she smiles and curtsies at a duke of Germany, or France, or some such.

She sighs. Quietly, of course, because even a sigh will be noticed by those whose job it is to monitor her every movement.

Ordinary people need time to themselves too, she suspects, but it is worse for a telepath. Not, of course, that anyone knows she is a telepath. That would be one way out of her confining, smothering life, but not the way out she wants.

The constant presence of other people’s thoughts is exhausting. Worse, this last tour of the entire continent has brought Charlotte to her last nerve. Her dreams lately have been full of other people’s worries, other people’s wishes and wants and fears. Her nation would gladly kill for the secrets she knows about the world’s governments, but she would trade them for a normal life in a moment if she could.

 _She looks unwell_.

The thought breaks Charlotte’s line of thought before one of her aides whispers, “Are you alright, your Highness?” in her ear.

“Perfectly well,” Charlotte replies with her most convincing smile.

She shifts her weight – slightly, elegantly – her feet tired after a long day. Then, the unthinkable; in the process of trying to move her feet gracefully, her impractically designed shoe slips off out of the reach of her foot.

Luckily, it remains under the skirt of her dress, out of sight, but she spends the rest of a very long introduction line attempting to get it back, and when she sits down she still hasn’t managed to retrieve it. Now it is out the open for anyone to notice. Horror!

She can feel the alarm from her aides like a wave of nausea and mentally suggests to one of them that he might like to ask her to dance, giving her an excuse to stand up again so quickly. Thinking the thought is his own, he stands and offers his hand to her.

Everyone jumps to their feet when they see the princess rise, and soon they’re all dancing. Crisis averted, for now. However, Charlotte is now obligated to dance with all the most important representatives in the room. Her tired feet are decidedly not in favor of this exercise.

Charlotte soon finds that short as she is, Italians all seem to be shorter. Perhaps it’s only the noble ones. The dancing itself she doesn’t mind so much, but it is tiring in its own way and by the time she gets back to her room she thinks she can’t bear another minute of pleasing other people.

The solution, she decides as the schedule for the next is being read to her, is to throw a massive screaming tantrum. The marvelous thing is that she doesn’t even have to put on an act once she gets started. It comes quite naturally.

Unfortunately, her aides send for the doctor, which is something Charlotte should have anticipated. By this point, she is completely overcome with her performance, and before she knows it the doctor is sticking her with a needle of some kind. As far as she can tell, this does nothing at all. Then they all decide that she will be perfectly alright and finally, finally, leave her alone.

Once they’re out of the room she runs to the window, delighted by the scenes of everyday Italian life going on down below. Normal people listening to normal music (she imagines) and going about normal business. _This_ is the Rome she wanted to see. No rules, no schedules, and certainly no worrying about impractical shoes.

A thought occurs to her. She could slip out right now, in the middle of the night when hardly anyone is still awake. If anyone caught her, she could simply send them to sleep with her powers. She’s not had much practice with this, but tonight is as good a time as any to try it. The idea takes hold of her with a conviction she rarely feels, and before she knows it she’s dressed and standing by the door, reaching out with her mind to see if anyone is nearby.

She runs through the palace simply because she is free to do so, physically forcing herself not to laugh aloud. The means of escape seem to present themselves to her like gifts. The guard by the main doors is already asleep, removing the need for her powers. A delivery truck idling outside the palace becomes the perfect getaway car.

However, the rocking motion of the truck must have had a soporific effect, because when she finally gets out she can barely keep her eyes open. She wanders through the Roman streets, dazed by her newfound freedom. So many people out at this hour of night! She would walk all night if she could, but she is rapidly becoming dizzy, the thoughts of others beginning to intrude on her own.

*

Erika likes to think she has a good poker face. In reality, she’s a terrible poker player. She continues to play it, for reasons she’s not even entirely sure of. A hope that someday her luck will change, maybe.

Tonight her luck is no different than usual, but the immaculately dressed girl lying face-down on a bench outside certainly is.

“Wake up,” Erika says, giving her shoulder a rough shake.

“No thank you,” the girl says firmly, clearly drunk past all reason.

“Wake up,” Erika insists.

The girl just groans and pushes her away.

At a loss, Erika hails a cab. “Go home and get yourself a coffee,” she says. There’s no hangover that a few Roman espressos can’t cure, in her experience. “You’ll be alright.” This she says as more of a hope than a statement of fact. The last thing she needs is some rich tourist with drinking problems under her care.

“So happy,” the girl slurs as Erika tries to lift her to her feet. Wonderful.

Erika gets into the taxi with her, hoping that the girl at least remembers her address, but Erika can get nothing out of her other than “Colosseum” and snoring. There’s nothing left to do other than take her home, which Erika is loath to do. Well, it’s either that or throw her out in the street again. Erika wishes she had just kept walking.

“Via Margutta 51,” she sighs at the taxi driver. _This is not my problem_ , she thinks bitterly.

The girl is all but sleepwalking by the time they make it to Erika’s apartment. She revives slightly when they reach Erika’s room, enough to look around with equal interest and curiosity.

“Where am I?” she asks.

“My apartment,” Erika says shortly. Other than the old Italian woman who keeps up the rooms, this girl is the only person other than Erika who has ever been in it.

“It’s so small,” the girl says, with a hint of delight.

Erika snorts. “Sorry it isn’t what you’re used to.” She goes to the closet and pulls out a pair of pajamas. “Here.”

“Pajamas!” the girl exclaims, as though Erika had just handed her a perfectly chosen birthday present.

“Yes,” Erika sighs, “pajamas.”

The girl starts undressing then and there, apparently with no qualms about Erika’s presence. Then she sits down heavily on Erika’s bed, quite obviously about to go to sleep.

“Oh no you don’t,” Erika says, pulling her back up. “You can sleep on the couch.” She guides her over to it and waits a moment to make sure she’ll stay put. The girl appears to be perfectly content with this arrangement. She spits out a quote, apropos of nothing, that Erika recognizes.

“Now, in their love, which was stronger, there were the seeds of hatred and fear and confusion growing at the same time: for love can exist with hatred, each preying on the other, and this is what gives it its greatest fury.”

Thomas Mallory,” she announces.

“No it isn’t,” Erika replies without thinking.

“Mallory!” the girl insists.

“It’s T. H. White,” Erika says. “It was published last year.” _The Once and Future King_ – she’d read it while waiting for reporting assignments when she first arrived in Rome.

“Keats,” the girl says again, but with slightly less certainty. 

“Right. I’m going out to get a coffee,” Erika says. _Or something stronger_. Caffeine has long since stopped affecting her.

“You have my permission to withdraw,” the girl says when Erika reaches the door.

Erika pauses without turning around. “Thank you,” she says with as much sarcasm as she can muster.

*

She returns to find the girl not on the couch, not on the chair, not even on the floor, but on _her_ bed. Naturally.

At her wits end, Erika drags the couch over to the edge of the bed (as noisily as possible) and lifts the mattress up on the other end, dumping the girl unceremoniously onto the couch. The girl curls back up as though nothing had happened and pulls the blanket off the bed with her. Erika figures this is as good as she’s going to get. At least it’s a warm night.


	2. Most Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up for Erika, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday everyone! Watch out for those First Class references.

The sun seems to be at an odd angle when Erika wakes up. Her apartment seems brighter than usual, and for the first time she realizes how terribly dusty it is. She stretches, feeling as though something isn’t quite right—

In a flash, she remembers two things: the girl sleeping on her couch, still dead to the world, and even more importantly, the fact that she was assigned an interview with the visiting princess this morning.

She jumps out of bed, rushing to the window. The clock tower outside reads noon exactly. She can’t believe it. She missed it.

She grabs her clothes, buttoning her shirt and drafting explanations in her mind as she runs down the stairs. There’s no chance of making up the interview, but if she can think of something better before she gets to work maybe she’ll keep her job, at least.

“Mr. Hennessey’s been looking for you,” one of the secretaries informs her when she bursts through the door. Erika tries to look hurried and productive rather than panicked. Not even the secretary seems convinced.

“Has he?” Erika asks, doing her best impression of someone who has _not_ overslept, and has in fact just been speaking with a foreign princess about important global affairs. She practically saunters into the editor’s office.

“You’ve been looking for me?” she asks, unconcerned.

“Yes I have. I make it a habit to look for people who show up four hours late to work,” Mr. Hennessey says.

Erika considers learning Italian. If she worked for an Italian newspaper this conversation would never be happening.

“I was on assignment,” Erika insists, the lie coming to her fully-formed. It must be a side effect of writing under pressure so often. “The interview with the princess, remember?”

Mr. Hennessey raises his eyebrows almost comically high. “Oh, so you’ve been to the interview?”

“Of course. I couldn’t miss it, could I?” This is almost too easy.

“You covered all the important topics? Asked all the questions I told you to?”

“Yes. You’ll read all about it when I finish the draft.” Erika reaches for the door handle, as though very busy and eager to get back to work.

“Wait, wait, wait. What did she think of increasing trade relations?”

“She was in favor of them.” Royal interviews are always so predictably scripted.

“And her demeanor? What was her demeanor like? It’s been a very long tour, you know, and our readers like a little human interest…”

Erika remembers something the girl back in her apartment had babbled last night. “Serene,” she says, “she seemed quite…serene.”

“Ah,” Mr. Hennessey says. He smiles, with perhaps a little too much satisfaction for Erika’s liking. “And what was she wearing?”

Erika opens her mouth, finds she has no ready response, and closes it again. Oh, how should she know? She barely pays attention to what she’s wearing.

“It was the dress, oh, you know the one…”

“Grey?”

“No, not quite a grey.” _Stupid_ , Erika thinks.

“Oh! The one with the gold collar?”

“Yes,” Erika says, seizing upon this suggestion too eagerly. “That’s the one.”

“Extraordinary,” Mr. Hennessey says, leaning back in his chair.

“What is?” Erika asks.

“That you managed to learn all of this when the princess is ill, and has had all of today’s interviews cancelled!”

So much for Erika’s poker face. “Cancelled,” she repeats flatly while her brain catches up to this information.

“Cancelled!” Mr. Hennessey waves a newspaper at her. “Which you might have known, if you got up early enough to read the newspaper.”

Erika isn’t listening to the words he’s shouting at her, though. Hard to see as it is, since it’s being shaken in front of her face, the image on the front page looks familiar—very familiar. Erika grabs the paper.

“This is the princess?”

“Yes, of course it’s the princess,” Mr. Hennessey says, utterly exasperated.

He starts to say something else, but Erika is already out of the office and grabbing the telephone in the hallway. She dials for her apartment’s front desk, staring incredulously at the newspaper as the phone rings. This is the sort of thing that only happens in movies, she thinks. Romantic comedies and the like. _Not_ that this is what this is.

After confirming that the girl – no, Erika corrects herself, _the princess_ – is still there, asleep, Erika rushes back into the editor’s office.

“How much would an interview with the princess be worth?” she asks.

Mr. Hennessey glares at her. “Just a simple interview on global affairs? Three hundred, maybe.” He shrugs. “Her views on clothes would be worth more, of course.”

Erika grins. “What about her views on everything?”

“Everything?”

Erika’s poker face might be worthless, but she can sell an idea when she needs to. “Absolutely everything,” she says, drawing out the words. “Global affairs, clothes, and anything in between.”

Mr. Hennessey looks at her with a mixture of hope and suspicion. “Pictures?”

“Maybe.”

“That impossible kind of interview would be worth five thousand dollars,” Mr. Hennessey says. “But of course, it’s impossible.”

“Five grand?” Erika confirms. “I want you to shake on that.”

“Only on the condition that you pay _me_ five hundred when you don’t get the interview,” Mr. Hennessey says with a grin.

Erika takes a final look at the newspaper. “You have a deal.”

On the way back to the apartment, she half expects it to have all been a dream. Surely this is too good to be true – a princess, in her apartment!

But there she is, still dead to the world on Erika’s couch.

Erika takes the opportunity to try and compare her to the photo in the newspaper, but it’s hard to tell with the girl’s face mushed into the pillow. She looks far less royal sleeping in Erika’s dingy apartment. And why would a princess have been wandering the streets of Rome too drunk to remember her own name?

Erika tries one last trick.

“Your Highness?”

The girl groans, turning away. A suggestion in Erika’s favor, but hardly evidence.

“Your _Royal_ Highness?” Erika feels slightly ridiculous.

“What is it?” the girl mumbles, still more asleep than not.

Erika grins. A princess in her apartment, after all.


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte wakes up to quite a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Charlotte's POV! Plus some Shower Adventures™ of the unsexy kind.

Charlotte wakes up gradually, hardly able to tell the difference between consciousness and unconsciousness at first. There are so many strange things around her that her mind decides she must still be dreaming.

Then she sees the tall, red-haired woman standing in the corner.

“Good morning,” the woman says with a faint smile. Charlotte just stares at her.

“Where am I?”

“Well,” the woman says, looking around in mock appraisal of their surroundings. “Some would generously consider this an apartment. My apartment, in fact.”

“How did I get here?” Charlotte demands.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “In a taxi. I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill me in on the rest.”

Charlotte considers this information, sorting through the events of the previous night, which she still cannot quite remember. Then she realizes what she’s wearing. Pajamas – men’s pajamas.

“Are these _yours_?”

“Yes,” the woman says, smiling again. The effect is not entirely comforting.

Charlotte tries to scan the woman’s thoughts for an explanation, but her own mind is still fuzzy, as though she’s had more than a few glasses of champagne.

“So I’ve been here all night? Alone?”

“Other than me? Yes.”

It takes a moment for all this information to sink in. Then Charlotte remembers she hasn’t even learned the other woman’s name.

“How do you do?” she asks, extending her hand. Oh, how _do_ ordinary people introduce themselves?

The woman looks momentarily surprised, then shakes. Charlotte, of course, has never actually shaken hands with anyone before, at least not properly, like this. She finds it exceptionally strange.

“And you are…?” Charlotte asks.

“Erika Lehnsherr,” the woman says. “What’s your name?”

Charlotte hesitates. She can’t very well tell Erika her real name.

“You may call me…Frances.” She lifts her chin, hoping Erika isn’t good at detecting lies. Frances is a common enough name, isn’t it? Charlotte is certain she has heard of ordinary women named Frances.

“What time is it?” Charlotte asks. She searches Erika’s mind, and while most of it is still fuzzy, a few things come into focus. Erika is very, very pleased with…something. Charlotte, perhaps? She’ll have to wait until her brain clears further to make any sense of it.

“It’s one-thirty,” Erika says.

“One-thirty! In the afternoon? I have to go!” Charlotte explains, leaping off the couch. She keeps the duvet pulled over her – imagine, men’s pajamas!

“Where do you have to go?” Erika asks mildly.

“Oh—I’ve been enough trouble to you already.” Charlotte suddenly can’t think of anything to say to Erika that won’t give away her secret. How do people _manage_ without telepathy?

Erika grins. “You aren’t what I’d call trouble.”

“I’m not?” Charlotte asks.

Erika rolls her eyes, a gesture Charlotte has only seen a very few times. Certainly never directed at her. “Here, you probably want to take a bath?” She opens a door to the smallest room Charlotte has ever seen.

“Thank you,” she says automatically.

“Sure. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Charlotte examines the tiny room with curiosity. There’s a sink and mirror, of course, and shelves holding Erika’s things. Then there is the basin that looks hardly big enough for her, let alone Erika, who is much taller. And two faucets – one well above Charlotte’s head, or at least she _thinks_ it’s a faucet. The smaller one looks much easier to manage, so she turns the knobs next to it until the water is the right temperature. Then she notices that the water is going right down the hole under the faucet. Erika’s bath must be broken.

For a few moments, Charlotte considers just putting her clothes on and giving up on it, but then she sees the little knob on top of the faucet. She pulls it up and is very surprised by the sudden spray of water from overhead. She shrieks, stumbling back, and yanks the curtain hanging by the bath closed. At least she can keep the whole room from getting wet.

It occurs to her then that maybe this is how it is supposed to work. Perhaps ordinary people bathe standing up. It’s worth a try, at least.

She’s just getting dressed, quite pleased at having taken her first standing-up bath, when she hears Erika return. Automatically, she reaches out to scan her mind, and finds that the water has almost completely cleared her head.

Erika is German by birth, but had moved to New York as a child. Her parents were Jewish – that explains that, then – and still lived in America. She was here in Rome for work, writing for—

Charlotte gasps. The whole story is flooding through now; Erika knows exactly who she is, and not only that, she’s called a photographer.

Charlotte crouches on the floor as her knees go wobbly, deciding what to do. Letting an unvetted reporter this closer to her is unthinkable. On the other hand, she’s in enough trouble as it is. When she gets back she’ll never be allowed an ounce of freedom again. The thought of that is even more unbearable than letting Erika get her “interview.”

Anyway, Charlotte has been doing interviews all week. As long as she doesn’t say anything controversial, what’s the harm? Erika did rescue her, after all. Charlotte senses no particular ill will in Erika’s mind, only a desire for the payment she’ll get from this interview. And it’s not that she isn’t in need of it. She’s two months behind on rent.

So. Let Erika have her story, even her pictures. In the meantime, Charlotte is going to have some fun of her own. This is Rome, after all.

“Well, how about breakfast?” Erika asks her when she comes back into the apartment.

“I can’t,” Charlotte says. “I’ve got to go.”

Erika must be awfully confident in her skills, because Charlotte doesn’t even register a sense of alarm in her mind. “Really? Already?”

“I’m afraid so. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Charlotte can’t keep a hint of irony out of her voice. She hopes Erika doesn’t notice.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll walk you back to…wherever you’re going.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Charlotte says, knowing full well that Erika intends to follow her. “Only…could you lend me some money? I don’t carry any.”

Erika raises an eyebrow. “That’s a bad habit. But here.” She reaches into her pocket.

Pockets. Now there’s something Charlotte could use.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the piece of paper Erika offers her. It’s a thousand of something, though Charlotte has no idea what.

“I’ll have it sent back,” Charlotte promises. “Goodbye.” She even waves, putting on quite a performance if she does say so herself.

“Goodbye.” There’s a look in Erika’s eyes that even Charlotte can’t read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I'm on Tumblr as bipolarhamilton if you want to come yell with me about X-Men and/or Hamilton (or, you know, shower me with glowing praise).


	4. Gelato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte has a bit of an adventure in the middle of Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short title for a short chapter. Next week's will be much longer!

Erika gives Charlotte a head start. She hadn’t really expected the princess to come up with a false name on the spot, but she’s absolutely sure that she has the right girl. Raven is meeting her in half an hour to get the photos. In the meantime, it’s up to Erika to get Charlotte to the café on time and, hopefully, get a story worthy of newsprint out of her.

Erika waits long enough for her to disappear into the market before following “Frances” through the crowded Roman streets. There’s no chance of giving up the interview now, but any attempt to keep Charlotte at her apartment would surely seem suspicious. Erika hasn’t yet figured out how she’ll talk Charlotte out of returning to the palace immediately. She’ll think of something.

Charlotte certainly doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. It’s as if she wants to be followed. Erika hides behind a stall selling watermelon and waits to see if Charlotte has noticed her, but the girl continues down the market without a care in the world. If she knows Erika is following her, she’s very clever at hiding it.

Still, Erika waits until Charlotte is distracted by a shoe seller to sneak closer.

She almost loses her around a corner when Charlotte ducks into a barber’s shop. Erika lingers in the street outside, puzzled. This could be a method of disguise, but if so it’s a very inefficient one.

When Charlotte reappears, her hair is shorter than even Erika’s shoulder-length cut. Curlier than ever, it catches the wind as Charlotte scans the street, eyes full of delight. She continues walking in the same direction, stopping only to buy…gelato. Erika is thoroughly confused. What kind of princess borrows money just to spend a day strolling through the Roman markets like a schoolgirl on vacation?

Charlotte stops on the Spanish Steps to enjoy her purchase, studying the people around her with interest. Erika senses an opportunity and seizes her chance.

“Nice day,” she comments, sitting down next to Charlotte.

“You again!” she exclaims without a hint of suspicion.

Erika raises an eyebrow. “Imagine meeting you here,” she says and instantly regrets the tinge of irony in her voice. Charlotte doesn’t appear to notice. “I thought you had somewhere to be in a hurry.”

Instead of becoming suspicious, Charlotte looks at her seriously and says, “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” Erika asks.

“Yes. I…I ran away last night. From school.”

“Really?” Erika tries not to laugh.

Charlotte nods and takes another bite of gelato. “I didn’t mean to be gone all night. But they gave me something to make me sleep, you know.”

“I see.”

“So now I think I’d better catch a taxi and go back.” She says ‘taxi’ as though it were a magical thing she had never seen before.

Erika smiles, knowing now what her angle will be. “It sounds as if you needed a break. Why don’t you take some time for yourself?”

Charlotte looks doubtful. “Maybe an hour or two…”

“Take the whole day,” Erika says. “Why not?”

“Well, I could…” Charlotte grins, almost deviously. “I could do some things I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Like what?” Erika asks, prodding her on. If she can just get her to include a visit to a café in her plans…

“I could visit a café!” Charlotte says as though reading Erika’s mind. “And…shop. And…dance! Whatever I want to do, for a whole day.” She smiles. “It doesn’t sound like much, does it?”

“It’s fine with me,” Erika says. “But it sounds like you’ll need a tour guide. I happen to know exactly the place to start your holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These couple of scenes are much funnier in the movie, so....go watch Roman Holiday, it's on Netflix! In my defense, visual humor is never as funny in writing. Enjoy the telepath jokes instead.


	5. Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wishes are made and come true, with a little bit of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter to make up for last week. Enjoy!

Charlotte seems utterly delighted with the café, spending more time looking around at the other customers than either the menu or Erika. When the waiter asks what she wants to drink, she orders champagne, causing Erika to have a minor heart attack on the spot. She grits her teeth and reminds herself of the five grand waiting at the end of this very expensive day.

“Do you normally drink champagne for lunch at this school of yours?” she asks.

“Today is a special occasion,” Charlotte says, smiling innocently.

Conversation not being one of Erika’s strongest suits, she struggles to find a reply. She just hopes that Raven gets here soon.

When their drinks come, Charlotte sips at her champagne with elegance no schoolgirl possesses. Erika takes a long drink of her cold coffee. She’s never quite gotten used to the stuff, but cold black coffee is preferable to any kind of coffee with the sugar and cream other people like to put in it. On hot days, cold coffee is nothing more than a method of keeping herself awake and tolerably comfortable.

“Have you ever had champagne?” Charlotte asks her suddenly.

“Once,” Erika replies.

“When?”

“My parents’ wedding anniversary,” she says, uncertain why she’s telling Charlotte this. “Their fortieth.”

Charlotte raises her eyebrows. “That’s quite a long time.”

“I suppose it is,” Erika says. Feeling off-balance, she changes the subject. “What will your school think of your new haircut?” She fears pushing Charlotte too far, in case she starts to become suspicious of Erika’s motives, but then, the princess has been surprisingly devious up to now.

“They’ll have a fit,” Charlotte says, laughing. “Now, you already know all about me, but I don’t know much about you. What do you do for a living, Ms. Lehnsherr?”

Erika freezes, her coffee halfway to her mouth. “Sales,” she says quickly, taking a drink to cover any awkwardness in her reply.

“What do you sell?”

Charlotte seems to find Erika’s life immensely interesting, or at the very least amusing.

“Fertilizer,” Erika replies. _Is one word for the bullshit I’m paid to write_ , she thinks, laughing inwardly at her own private joke. Just then, she spots Raven over the princess’s shoulder.

“Raven!” she calls, holding up a hand to catch her attention. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Raven takes a curious look at Charlotte. “Are you going to introduce me to your…friend?” She glances knowingly at Erika.

“Of course. Raven, meet Frances. Frances, Raven.”

“Nice to meet you, Frances…?”

“Smith,” Charlotte says quickly.

“Right,” Raven says, smiling in a slightly unsettling way. Erika glares at her. Raven can have all the fun with this she likes, so long as Charlotte doesn’t catch on to it.

Raven sits down and passes Erika the money she had asked for when she had first called. On any other day, Raven would laugh in Erika’s face if she asked to borrow money, but the promise of a quarter of the cut was incentive enough. Someone has to pay for Princess Charlotte’s champagne and circuses, after all. Charlotte pays no attention to this exchange, distracted as she is by the goings-on in the street next to the café.

“Cigarette?” Erika asks Charlotte, pulling them out of her pocket. Privately, Erika detests smoking, but everyone in Italy does it, and occasionally Erika finds it useful to blend in.

“Oh, thank you,” Charlotte says. “You’ll never believe it, but I’ve never smoked a cigarette before. The school is very strict about it.”

“Is that so?” Raven asks. She pulls out her lighter for Charlotte to use. It takes a long time to light, probably because it’s also a camera which Raven is using to secretly photograph Charlotte.

“There we go,” Raven says, with another glance at Erika. “It never seems to want to work.” She takes another picture, which Charlotte practically poses for, and lights a cigarette for herself.

Charlotte seems in no hurry to leave, and adamantly refuses to plan anything else for the rest of the day, preferring spontaneity. The three of them wander out of the café, following her lead.

The princess’s fondest wish turns out, apparently, to be a ride on a scooter through the streets of Rome.

“Two of them?” Erika asks, looking at the price of a single rental. She figures that Charlotte can ride with Raven.

“Oh no,” Raven says, smirking. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Erika can’t argue with only having to pay for one scooter, but she glares at Raven anyway. Raven gives her an innocent smile.

“Have fun.”

Charlotte smiles. “I’m sure we will.” She looks up at Erika.

“Hold on,” Erika says, making sure Charlotte’s grip is secure before taking off. The scooter isn’t especially fast, but Erika doesn’t trust Italian drivers an inch. Or drivers of any nationality, for that matter.

Erika glances around to make sure no one is watching and gives the scooter an extra boost with her powers. Charlotte laughs in Erika’s ear, surprised by the sudden increase in speed, as they zip through the narrow, winding streets.

Knowing that Raven will be taking advantage of the opportunity for a photo shoot, Erika loops back around.

Sure enough, she catches a glimpse of Raven disappearing around a corner. Moments later, a camera-bearing tourist emerges from around the same corner, wearing a smirk that bears an uncanny resemblance to Raven’s.

“I never knew these went so fast!” Charlotte shouts in Erika’s ear. She holds onto Erika tighter as they make a sharp turn around a corner. Charlotte’s glee must be contagious – Erika rarely has so much _fun_. Nothing like testing her powers and driving skills on a warm Roman afternoon.

 _You have a job to do_ , she reminds herself.

They make another turn, and Charlotte gasps. “What is that?”

“What?” Erika asks.

“That building,” Charlotte says. “It’s beautiful.”

Erika lets her powers direct the scooter, trusting them enough to keep the scooter moving in a straight line, and cranes her neck to look up at the building in question as they pass it.

“It’s a church,” she shouts back over her shoulder. There are thousands of churches in Rome, so she has no idea of the name.

“We should stop and ask,” Charlotte shouts back.

Bemused by Charlotte’s sudden interest in architecture, Erika pulls over to the sidewalk and parks the scooter. She spots a man standing in the doorway of the church who looks suitably knowledgeable and goes over to ask about the church. When she glances back over her shoulder, Charlotte is nowhere to be found. Then she sees the scooter rounding the corner at the end of the street, with Charlotte steering.

“Hey!” Erika yells, not caring whether this is the proper etiquette for shouting at a princess, and runs after her, forgetting entirely about the mystery church.

The scooter is much slower without the aid of Erika’s powers, but still difficult to catch up with. Erika could just stop the scooter, of course, but only at the risk of sending Charlotte flying over the handlebars – not to mention causing a scene. So she continues running after it, ducking the chaos that follows in its wake.

Charlotte clearly has no idea how to steer the thing, and very little concept of which side of the road to drive on. She crashes through crowds, markets, alleys, and other traffic, somehow never quite causing an accident and laughing in delight all the while.

Erika finally manages to catch up when Charlotte has to slow down for a pedestrian. She jumps on the back of the scooter – very dashing, if she may say so herself – just as she hears police sirens behind them.

“Let go,” she says firmly, reaching around Charlotte to grab the handlebars away from her. She gives the scooter another burst of speed. Charlotte shrieks as Erika ducks through an impossibly narrow alley, coming out on the other side and doubling back to avoid the police who have no doubt taken notice of Charlotte’s reckless driving.

Erika is concentrating too hard to lecture Charlotte, and anyway the princess doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit chastised.

Then, just when Erika thinks the sirens might be receding, she sees Raven climb out of a car in front of them – legally or illegally acquired, Erika doesn’t know – and stare at them, wide-eyed. Then Erika sees the police car blocking the street in front of them. She turns the scooter in a tight circle, only for another car to suddenly appear behind them. Charlotte has gone very pale.

One of the officers gets out of his car and starts shouting at them in very angry Italian, too quick for Erika to follow. Charlotte seems to understand, though.

“He says we’ve got to come with him.”

At the station, Erika is wracking her brains for a suitable explanation, hoping Raven is having more luck than she is. Too quickly, the police start asking, reasonably, what on earth they thought they were doing careening down the streets of Rome on a rented scooter.

Erika gives Raven a nervous glance.

“We were on our way to get married,” Charlotte says, as naturally as if it were the truth.

“Married?” the officer asks. He looks between Erika and Raven as though trying to decide which of them is more likely to marry Charlotte.

“Yes, married,” Charlotte insists. She grabs Erika’s arm and smiles blissfully. Erika can feel her face getting warm.

“We were late getting to the church, see,” Raven supplies, her voice slightly strained as she tries not to burst out laughing.

Erika can see that the officer believes them – or at least, wants to.

“You have a wedding to get to?” he asks.

“Yes, and by now we’ll be very late,” Charlotte says seriously. “Maybe everyone thinks we aren’t coming.” She looks up at Erika as though this is the most tragic thing in all the world. Erika tries to look suitably concerned.

“Ah, no!” If the officer finds anything lacking in Erika’s performance, he doesn’t show it. “You must get there as soon as possible. We will release you immediately, of course. My apologies.”

“No apologies necessary,” Charlotte says, smiling gracefully.

It seems the best outcome Erika could possibly have hoped for until they see the angry crowd waiting outside, made up of pedestrians Charlotte nearly ran over, or owners of stalls she _did_ run over. At the mention of the word ‘wedding,’ however, their complaints instantly turn into congratulations and well-wishes. Erika finds herself in a crowd of people who suddenly want to shake her hand, or hug her, or kiss her on the cheek. Charlotte is in her element.

“I’d stay, but we really must be going,” she says, once Erika has become intensely uncomfortable. All of this, of course, is to Raven’s amusement.

“How on earth did you think of that?” Erika asks, once they’re free of both the police and the crowd of well-wishers.

“Everyone loves a wedding,” Charlotte says. “And you don’t have to sound so worried – I won’t hold you to it!”

“Good.”

Charlotte turns. “You don’t have to sound too relieved, either!”

“Where to now?” Raven asks.

“If we’re not going to a wedding, let’s do something else suitably Roman,” Charlotte says. “I feel like being a tourist.”

“As long as it doesn’t get us rearrested,” Erika deadpans.

“I have an idea,” Raven says, smiling. “Follow me.”

Erika guesses where she’s going before they get there. She’s been here before, when she first got to Rome and Raven showed her around the city.

“What _is_ it?” Charlotte asks. She stares at the rock wall, where an imposing face has been carved around a natural hole in the rock. Erika, or really anyone else, for that matter, has no idea how old it is or who carved it, but over the years a number of legends have sprung up around it, and it’s become something of a tourist site.

“The Mouth of Truth,” Erika says. “According to some, if a liar sticks their hand in its mouth, it’ll be bitten off.”

Charlotte looks wary. “It’s only a story, isn’t it?”

Erika shrugs. “See for yourself.”

Charlotte approaches the rock slowly, inching only the tips of her fingers into the ‘mouth.’ She shivers, snatching her hand back. “You try it.”

“Alright.”

It’s only a rock, of course, but there is something eerie about it. Something about the expression, or its incalculable age and the surrounding mystery of it, or simply the immense weight of it.

She puts her whole hand in, up to the wrist. Nothing happens, of course.

“See?” she says.

Charlotte smiles. “Both of us must be telling the truth, then.”

Raven, leaning against the entrance, lights another cigarette – snapping another picture, of course. “Well,” she says, “it’s been fun, but I’ve got to go. Enjoy your little holiday.”

“You’re going?” Erika asks.

Raven gives her a look that she can’t quite decode. “I’ll catch up with you later. Goodbye…Frances.”

“Goodbye.” Charlotte suddenly seems slightly flustered.

“What next?” Erika asks, when Raven is gone.

Charlotte appears to shake off whatever was bothering her, slipping back into her perfectly poised façade.

“The hairdresser this afternoon was talking about a dance tonight…a dance on a boat.”

“The barges of Sant’Angelo?” Erika asks.

“Yes, that sounds right. Let’s go!”

“If you like,” Erika agrees, still wondering about the look Raven had given her. She just hopes they have enough pictures for the story.

They still have some time before the dance, so Erika continues her improvised tour of Rome for Charlotte’s benefit, pointing out the best cafes, restaurants, and local businesses. She doesn’t know much about landmarks or tourist stops, but she knows Rome.

“What’s this?” Charlotte asks, touching Erika’s arm to get her attention. Erika looks over at the wall where Charlotte is pointing. It’s tall, reaching far over their heads, and covered with plaques and signs as well as flowers and other mementos left behind by hundreds of visitors.

“It’s the Wishing Wall,” Erika says. She must have walked past this place a dozen times during her time here, but it’s been a long time since she’s paid it much attention. The story begins to come back to her, looking at it now – maybe Raven told her. She finds herself falling into a storytelling cadence, as though writing the story for one of her news assignments. “During the war, a man was trapped here with his family during an air raid. He and his children took shelter by this wall. Bombs fell very close, but no one was hurt, and when the raid was over he put up the first of these plaques. Ever since then, other people have put up their own whenever one of their wishes come true.”

“A lovely story,” Charlotte says. Erika had never known the word ‘lovely’ to sound so genuine.

“Make a wish,” she says, unsure of where the impulse came from.

Charlotte looks up at the wall, her gaze suddenly far away, then back at Erika, smiling with her eyes only.

“Did you make a wish?”

Charlotte nods.

“What was it?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true, will it?” Charlotte says. She smiles, but the expression has a trace of sadness in it. “Come on, let’s keep going,” she says, touching Erika’s arm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....I'm moving to London in two days. The last two chapters are written but not edited, but I'll do my best to keep up with the Saturday schedule!


	6. A Beginning, An End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization, a dance, an escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! I did make it safely to London, if anyone was wondering.

Charlotte likes to believe that she knows people better than anyone else. She knows their thoughts, feelings, and desires even when they don’t want to admit those things to themselves. Certainly, she hopes that she knows her own mind. But Raven had seen what even Charlotte hadn’t.

Charlotte likes Erika – really, truly likes her, despite her dishonesty. And Erika likes Charlotte.

Erika is _fascinating_ , and all of the things Charlotte wishes she could be. Self-sufficient, self-assured, and free from caring about what other people think of her. Erika had lied, yes, but Charlotte wasn’t sure whether she had really done anything wrong. Perhaps Charlotte would feel differently if she wasn’t a telepath.

She sighs. There’s no point in thinking about this anyway, not when this is only a holiday from her real life. She’ll never see Erika again after today, so why bother sorting through her feelings about her?

“Everything alright?” Erika asks at her sigh, looking over her shoulder. This is what made Erika so difficult to read; she pretends to herself that her concern is only for the sake of the story she’s secretly writing about Charlotte. Erika hasn’t even admitted her feelings to herself, and she’s hidden them so well that even Charlotte had trouble reading them.

“Fine, thank you,” Charlotte says. She realizes too late that she’s used her most formal voice. Not that it matters, really, but she must be more careful when she’s at the dance, in case someone else overhears and takes too long a look at her.

Night is falling fast, and Charlotte can already hear the music, though she can’t see the barges.

“Have you ever been to a dance here?” she asks Erika, more to start a conversation than out of curiosity. She could just find out the answer for herself, after all.

“No,” Erika replies. “I’m not much of a dancer, honestly.”

“Perhaps we’ll change that,” Charlotte says. She’s flirting, and this will only make it more difficult later. But for now, she’s on holiday in Rome. What is there to do besides flirt with a woman that she might, under different circumstances, have fallen for?

Charlotte could simply use her powers to suggest to Erika that she might like to dance, but she doesn’t need to. Erika is already half considering the idea, and all Charlotte has to do is call the question to the front of Erika’s mind.

“May I have this dance?” Erika asks, one corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. Charlotte can feel her nervousness, buried deep within her thoughts, but you’d never notice it from the outside.

“You may,” Charlotte says.

Erika was telling the truth about not being a good dancer, but she’s not a terrible one, either. Charlotte would know. It’s clear that Erika doesn’t do this sort of thing often. That makes Charlotte a special case, a thought that makes her stomach clench with equal excitement and regret.

Erika is much taller than she is. Charlotte has to learn her head back just to meet Erika’s eyes.

She looks up suddenly, realizing just how close they are to each other.

“Hello,” Charlotte says.

“Hello,” Erika replies, bemusement and a glimmer of affection visible behind her neutral expression.

And nothing more is said for the rest of the song, until the music picks up pace and they exit the floor to make way for better dancers.

A part of Charlotte – a small part, admittedly, but very insistent – fairly hates Erika. If not for Erika, this holiday might have been exactly the thing she needed, a break from her normal life and a secret adventure to amuse herself with. Erika makes returning to her old life even less bearable than it was last night. Can it have been only last night that she was a princess, trapped by her duty to her family and her country?

Charlotte wants Erika to feel as uncomfortable as she does. She almost wants to tell Erika that she’s known about the lie all along, that she knows Erika has just been using her for a story. She settles for this.

“It was so kind of you to let me stay in your apartment,” she says.

Erika looks over at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Charlotte continues. “It’s just that I’ve never known anyone so kind…so completely unselfish.” Surely Erika will realize that Charlotte has figured her out, even if she doesn’t suspect her to be a fellow mutant.

“Really,” Erika says, now clearly flustered, “it was no trouble.”

Charlotte stands up. “I’m going to dance,” she announces. “Do you mind?”

Now Erika really looks surprised. “No. I don’t mind.”

Charlotte dances as though she’s back at last night’s ball, expected to dance with everyone present. She even dances with her hairdresser from earlier that day. She’s so busy dancing, she doesn’t even pay attention to the thoughts swirling around her.

That is, until she comes face-to-face with an imposing-looking woman and knows she’s in trouble. She reads at a glance that the woman is here to bring her back to the palace and that there are at least a dozen more people around the edges of the barge here for the same purpose.

To the crowd, it must look like the two of them are dancing like everyone else, but the woman is pushing Charlotte towards the edges of the crowd. Towards the exit. Towards the palace.

Charlotte panics.

“Erika!” she shouts, catching her eye through the crowd of dancers. Erika stands up, sees the nearest man in an identical suit to the woman dancing with Charlotte, and begins pushing her way through the crowd.

When the dancers around Charlotte notice her distress, they instantly rally, surrounding the woman.

“She bothering you?” a pixie-like girl asks, sizing up the much taller woman. Then Erika reaches them.

She grabs Charlotte’s wrist protectively. “Come on,” she says, and pulls Charlotte back through the crowd.

The woman follows, but the pixie girl trips her. Chaos follows as the dancers recognize the solemn, black-suited secret service standing at all the exits and jump to Charlotte’s defense without knowing who or what they’re fighting for. One thing about Rome – Charlotte loves the Romans as much as their city.

Charlotte hadn’t even noticed Raven catch up with them, but she catches a glimpse of her across the barge. Raven lands a kick on one of the secret servicemen, grinning as she flips another over her back, sending him flying over the rail into the river.

“Come on!” Erika shouts again, pulling her along. They make it out of the crowd, and they seem to be safe.

Just before they reach a corner up ahead, Charlotte senses the mind just on the other side.

“Wait!” she says, too late – Erika has already rounded the corner and taken a hit from another guard.

“I’m fine,” Erika says as she scrambles to her feet. “Go!”

She shoves Charlotte off the platform into the water and dives in after her. The cold water is a shock, but not as bracing as it might have been. Luckily, Charlotte is a strong enough swimmer, and none of the guards come after them.

When they climb out of the water on the opposite bank of the river, the cool night air is freezing against Charlotte’s skin. She’s laughing too hard to care, though, which sets Erika off laughing as well.

On impulse, Charlotte leans in to kiss her.

Erika stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. Then she kisses Charlotte back.

When they separate, neither of them are laughing anymore.

“Well,” Erika whispers after a long moment. “We should probably get moving.”

*

The walk back is long and cold, but Erika’s apartment is warm enough. Charlotte has another shower – much easier the second time – and hangs her clothes up to dry, wearing a robe of Erika’s in the meantime.

Erika grins when she sees her. “That looks better on you than on me. You should always wear my clothes.”

“It seems I do,” Charlotte says, smiling back at her. “Should I cook dinner?”

Erika shakes her head. “No kitchen. I never cook.”

“Do you like that?” Charlotte asks. She almost wants to laugh – it’s not so different from her own life.

Erika looks at her seriously. “Life isn’t always what one likes.”

“No,” Charlotte agrees. “It isn’t.”

A heavy sort of silence falls before Charlotte whispers, “I have to go now.”

Erika says nothing in reply. She steps closer to Charlotte, hesitant. “There’s something I want to tell you…” she begins.

Charlotte stops her, knowing what would come next. “No. Don’t tell me.”

Erika takes another step and kisses her instead.

Then she walks with Charlotte to the palace.

*

Though it’s useless, Charlotte makes Erika promise not to watch turn the corner towards the palace. One final deception to keep up the charade they’re both performing.

Charlotte can feel Erika’s despair with every step she takes.


	7. The Timing's Never Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! It was a lot of fun to write this, and I hope equally as much fun to read.

Erika tells Mr. Hennessey that she has no story for him, a decision that costs her five hundred dollars she doesn’t have. Knowing Charlotte as she does now, she could never expose Charlotte’s story to the public for a price. It wouldn’t be fair. But Erika’s reasons are selfish as well. She wants to keep her memories of yesterday, her memories of Charlotte, for herself.

Raven, on the other hand, is free to do what she likes. Erika can no more control what she does with the pictures than she can control the weather. (Though she has tried, once or twice, to no effect.)

Mr. Hennessey, still suspicious that Erika knows more than she’s telling him, assigns her to the rescheduled press conference with the princess anyway. So Erika has one last chance to see Charlotte. She doesn’t know whether this is easier or worse than it would have been otherwise.

She stands in the front row, where Charlotte can see her easily. The princess looks as calm as composed as she ever has looking out from the front page of a newspaper. She must recognize Erika and realize what she’s doing here, but her face shows no sign of betrayal. Then—

_Hello._

The voice comes from _inside_ Erika’s head, sounding as if Charlotte is standing right in front of her. But Charlotte isn’t even looking in her direction now.

_Hello?_

Charlotte’s voice continues, clear and plain as day: _I’ve known who you were since yesterday morning. I’m a mutant too, you see. A telepath._

_You knew—?_

_Yes, I knew. You can publish the story, if you like._

_I’m not going to publish the story,_ Erika thinks firmly.

 _It makes no difference. I leave the city tomorrow, and we’ll never see each other again_. A trace of sadness tinges Charlotte’s ‘voice.’ _It’s a good story_.

_Charlotte…I’m sorry._

_I know. And I’m sorry we don’t have more time_.

Erika feels Charlotte’s mental presence recede, just as one of Charlotte’s aides introduces the press. The whole conversation has taken all of a few seconds.

Erika stands dazed as the press begins asking their questions. Charlotte responds as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. But then, Erika supposes, she’s had more practice at acting.

“What was your favorite city, out of the tour?” a man behind Erika asks.

“Each city was charming in its own way,” Charlotte begins, then stops. She looks back up at the crowd, a faint smile playing around her lips. “Rome. By all means, Rome.” She glances in the direction of the man who had asked the question, but her gaze lands on Erika.

Erika stands silently through the rest of the question and answer session. She can’t think of a reasonably good question to ask, anyway. All too soon, the conference ends, and she’s missed her chance.

Charlotte stands. “I would now like to meet some of the ladies and gentlemen of the press.” Erika catches the looks of shock on her aides’ faces, but Charlotte is already coming down the stairs towards the crowd.

It takes quite a few minutes between all the introductions and hand-shaking before she reaches Erika.

“Erika Lehnsherr of the American News Service,” Erika says, clearing her throat.

“So happy, Ms. Lehnsherr,” Charlotte says, with the briefest grin. _Thank you, my friend. I will never forget you, nor the day we spent together._

 _Neither will I_.

Charlotte smiles and moves to the next reporter, as though Erika were a total stranger. She returns to the dais and gives the crowd a final dazzling smile before retreating back into the palace. As the train of her dress disappears, Erika is struck by the sense that she will never see Charlotte again in person.

 _Perhaps not,_ Charlotte agrees silently. _My powers don’t extend to predicting the future. But perhaps we will have another holiday, someday._

 _Someday,_ Erika thinks back, not even sure whether Charlotte hears.

The crowd disperses quickly, but Erika lingers, waiting for the final sense of Charlotte’s mind to disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out that Roman Holiday was just taken off Netflix...sad day! Now you can read this instead :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1! I'll be updating every Saturday for the next six weeks.
> 
> And bonus points if you guess where the title came from. No Google allowed!


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